The weather in New York is much better than in Gotham. Even though it is winter, the weather is still sunny. Looking out from the third-floor window of the clinic, can see the busy traffic on the road towards the city skyline.
Schiller wakes up early. Pikachu pushes the door open with its short little hands and stretches lazily, yawning, "Your damned old-fashioned kettle is too noisy! Yawn... Where do you get such an antique?"
Schiller walks down the stairs, and Pikachu slides down from the handrail to the second-floor dining room. The kettle steams with hot water, occasionally emitting sharp whistles.
Using magic, Schiller levitates the kettle and places it on the table. Then he waves his hand, and a frying pan flies over. He pours some olive oil onto it and starts making breakfast.
Pikachu opens the refrigerator and starts rummaging through it, complaining as it searches for something to eat. "I should throw away these damn blue vein cheese. They smell so bad! Oh... and these cursed lettuce leaves, they taste like plastic. Let me see... here it is! My cheese for the sandwich later. And my favorite canned lunch meat. Cut it open and put it in the middle. Remember, it has to be thick..."
At that moment, the door of the clinic downstairs opens. Schiller hears Peter's voice accompanied by the footsteps coming up, "Doctor! I'm here! I borrow a toolbox from my uncle. I'm sure I can fix that damn circuit breaker today..."
As he walks up, the opening refrigerator door blocks his view. He casually swings it shut. Then, with a loud bang, a cry comes, "Oh shit!! My waist!!!"
Peter quickly opens the refrigerator door again, only to find a furry Pikachu getting down on one of the shelves, with its back hitting the lid of the tin can.
Peter picks him up and asks, "You have waist? Where is it?"
"Hey, kid, don't force me to expose you. It wasn't a switch issue yesterday. It was clearly that you keep losing all your 30 lives without completing the level..."
Peter hurriedly covers Pikachu's mouth and awkwardly changes the subject, "Doctor, what's for today? It smell so good."
"Just a fried sandwich. If you want to eat, I can make a big one for you."
"Okay, but it doesn't have to be too big. My appetite decreases lately."
"Well, that's good news." Schiller says while frying eggs, "At least your aunt doesn't have to cook for you every day until her wrists hurt."
Peter chats with Schiller while catching a glimpse of the ring on his ring finger. Pikachu notices the subtle change in his expression. It looks around and then says, "We haven't removed yesterday's game cassette. Do you want to play another round?"
Peter doesn't understand what Pikachu means, but when Pikachu wags its tail and points downstairs with its furry lightning-shaped tail, Peter understands. He immediately follows Pikachu downstairs.
After a while, the two return, whispering to each other. Then,Pikachu jumps onto the stove and stares at Schiller.
Schiller is flipping the golden fried egg with a spatula. Peter winks at Pikachu from behind. Pikachu wrinkles its nose and says, "Well, alright. I emm... it's quite tiring for you to cook for us. How about we go out to eat?"
Schiller looks at him in surprise, "Did the sun rise from the west today? Normally, at this time, you would ask me to cook the eggs softer."
"I mean... well, never mind. But I always feel like humans shouldn't keep everything bottled up inside. It's not good for your health..."
"I'm a psychologist. I understand that better than you. Otherwise, how can I make money?" Schiller shrugs.
Pikachu shakes its tail and is about to say something when Peter scoops it up into his arms. Chuckling, Peter interrupts, "Haha, Doctor, we go to play games. We'll help you later."
Pikachu retaliates by smacking Peter's face with its tail, in response to being hit on its waist earlier. Peter doesn't back down, grabbing Pikachu's ears and playfully tossing it around. Laughing and fooling around, the two go downstairs.
Schiller feels a bit puzzled; he has a feeling that Peter is hiding something from him.
After a while, Steve, who has just finished his morning run, comes in. He wipes off his sweat with a towel and follows the smell upstairs. He says, "The layout of this old house is so unreasonable. The kitchen is on the second floor."
"Luckily, I can afford a good range hood," Schiller smiles.
"And do you have to thank Nick for not skimping on your bonus?"
"What? In what name did he give you a bonus this time? How much did you get? 30% or 20%?"
"Without taking into account taxes, only 18%," Steve shrugs.
"His understanding of the extra income distribution is really getting more macroscopic ."
Steve puts the towel on the railing and naturally opens the refrigerator, muttering under his breath, "Let me see. Where is the steak I put here last time? Oh, here it is, only half left. I think I'll make a beef cheeseburger. What about the cheese? I remember there was half a piece left..."
"Don't waste your time. You forget that we have a Jerry rat here? Except for blue vein cheese, what other kind of cheese can survive until the next day?"
"Oh my goodness! That's nearly two pounds of cheese. Does he finish all of it? Not a single bit left?"
"No, not only it. Peter makes a Margherita pizza last time and uses at least a pound of it."
Steve shakes his head and closes the fridge door. "Young people these days don't understand the value of saving. Is there a reliable store in Hell's Kitchen? I can go get some cheese slices."
"Take a right and walk two blocks down the street to Mrs. Helena's house. But it's better to tell her you're there to buy cheese, or else she might mistake you for a job applicant."
"A job? What kind of job is there in that damn place?"
"Well, Mrs. Helena runs three strip clubs, and business is booming. She should really like your type."
Steve grimaces,"Hear I should take the long way and buy it outside of Hell's Kitchen."
Then he walks over and pats Schiller on the shoulder. "Hey, I know you're a doctor. But doctors are just ordinary people too, and therapists aren't all-powerful. If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to come to me. We're friends, you know."
With that, he turns and leaves, leaving Schiller utterly confused. He has just made breakfast and fried an egg. Why does everyone seem so strange?
Not long after Steve leaves, Stark flies in through the window wearing his armor and holding a pile of documents. The rush of cold air rushes into the room like a hurricane.
Schiller turns to him and is startled by Stark's dark circles. He says, "Damn, what happens to you?"
"Oh, could it be... Miss Potts takes a day off today?"
"What are you talking about? I research all night for the information you bring yesterday."
With that, he places the stack of files on Schiller's desk and confesses, "There are hardly any advancements in neural interface technology. Obie is still in a coma, so I can't ask him either. But I find another way."
Iron Man is still in his armor, and he points directly at one section of the documents with his metal-covered hand. "If aging nerves and dead nerve cells can't be regenerated, then we find a way to replace them with mechanics, just like replacing a heart."
"I think you don't need to explain the principle to me. I just want to know how feasible it is."
Stark crosses his arms and stares at the diagrams in the documents. He says, "You have to know, even if I'm a genius, I can't just conjure up technology out of thin air. And more importantly, even if I master this technology, it needs to go through extensive safety testing before it can be put to use."
Stark glances at the ring on Schiller's finger, touches his own lips, and then continues, "If you're really in a hurry, I can convene a neuroscientific consultation in the name of Stark Industries and invite the most famous experts from around the world."
"Of course, it's best if you can bring the patient, or else they won't be able to come up with solutions either."
"That's going to be difficult," Schiller says.
What he says is true. Leaving aside how he can bring DC characters to the Marvel universe, even if he can, the difference in the passage of time between the two sides causes many problems and potentially great risks.
Schiller is well aware that, unlike in the Marvel universe, he has an important task in the DC world - to escape the entanglement of his enemies.
His enemies are not just ordinary people. First of all, he can hire Deathstroke to kill him. The words Deathstroke leaves before he leaves reveal enough information. When Schiller wants to pay him to retaliate against the employer, Deathstroke's first reaction is, "You can't afford the price."
And when Schiller sound out by claiming the richest man in the world will pay for it, Deathstroke still leaves without any hesitation. It indicates that even if there is enough money, it isn't worth him completely switching sides.
The fact that he can make such judgment as the world's top mercenary Deathstroke already reveals a lot of information. It seems that what the original Schiller is involved in is not simply a matter of personal interests, and there must be a larger conspiracy behind it.
For this reason, Schiller hopes that Victor can become his ally and compensate for his shortcomings in engineering and mechanical knowledge. So he is willing to help Victor's wife as much as possible to prevent Victor from becoming Mr. Freeze. However, that doesn't mean he has to take huge risks to shuttle a living person between two worlds.
Moreover, it won't fundamentally solve the problem either. If DC's experts and scholars can't cure this disease, it's unlikely that Marvel's ordinary experts will be able to.
Schiller remains silent as he contemplates. Finally, Stark can't help himself and says, "You... I mean... Is she okay? Right?"
Schiller doubts, "What?"
Stark awkwardly touches his forehead. "I heard from Coulson that your wife isn't doing well..."
Schiller is stunned. Where did this rumor come from? And where did he suddenly get a wife ?!
It's reason everyone's attitude is so strange today!
Soon, he remembers the first person he meets after returning to the Marvel universe - the future Doctor Strange, the current neuroscientist, Strange.
What a master of analysis Strange is!
Schiller thinks to himself maliciously, "Next time, remember to devour Strange's brain. After all, it's not like he's using it for anything."